Why's He Crying?
by Shelby
Summary: RENTfic. Angel's crying, and no one can figure out why....(PG for my sick sense of the absurd...)


Author's Note: There is a severe lack of humorous RENTfic on this site. Thus, I wrote this. I know, it's completely stupid. And I am also aware of the repeated use of "small, slightly broken table." I planned that, as sick as it may sound.   
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Why's He Crying?  
  
  
Angel sat bent over the small, slightly broken table in the Loft. The only thing you could see was the very top of his head, due to the immense collection of bags and books stacked along the front of this small, slightly broken table.   
  
Sniffling could be heard from the drag queen's direction.   
  
"Angel, are you okay?"  
  
Mark stood in front of the small, slightly broken table with a look of concern washing over his pale face.   
  
"I'm fine." Another sniffle. "Don't worry about it."  
"Are you sure? You sound like you're crying."  
"Don't worry about it Mark, it's okay."  
  
The filmmaker groaned, and shrugged, still wary of Angel's condition.   
  
"Hey Mark!" Roger and Mimi walked in the door. The guitarists' arm was wrapped around his girlfriend's small waist possessively, and the gleam in his eye told Mark that they had consumed a little more than half a glass of alcohol. The hypothosis being correct, they both sobered up as a small sob erupted from the figure behind the small, slightly broken table.   
  
"Angel? What's up? Why are you crying?"  
"Oh, no reason." Swallow.   
"Did you and Collins have a fight?"  
"No."  
"Did somebody, you know, die or something?"  
"No."   
"Then why are you..."  
"Hey, don't worry about it."   
  
The voice was tinged with the slight lisp of a sob. Fortunately, Maureen and Joanne waltzed in before any further interrogation could commence.   
  
"It's your fault!"  
"It is not! Just because you won't support my cause-"  
"You're protesting nothing!"  
"It's important! The excessive amount of silk extracted from poor, defenseless silkworms is incrediably terrible!!"  
"It is no-"  
  
Angel sobbed again, cutting Joanne off mid-sentance.   
  
"Angel?"  
"Hm?"  
"What's-I mean-why are you-"  
"Crying? Geez y'all, I'm fine."  
  
Although a convincing arguement, another hiccuped sob escaped through the wall of books and numerous bags on this small, slightly broken table.   
  
"He's been crying for a while, but he won't tell any of us what's up." Mark whispered, before his attention was drawn to the opening door.   
  
"Hello!" Collins' voice boomed cheerily through the doorframe, cutting into the silence.   
"Hey."  
  
Sob.  
  
"Angel?" The ex-teacher's smiling face suddenly fell, and he made his way over to where the other's stood, in front of the small, slightly broken table.   
"Hey Collins." Sniffle.   
"Are you crying?"  
"I'm okay. Why don't you all just let me work?"  
  
Angel sniffed, and looked up for a second, revealing the red around his amber eyes. Collins reached over and brushed a piece of hair out of his face from across the table.   
  
"Angel baby, if there's something wrong-"  
"There isn't!"  
  
The drag queen laughed weakly, and swallowed. Finally, Mark sighed.   
  
"If you need anything Angel, we're here."  
"Yeah."  
  
The group moved on to what they had initially set off to do. Mark to his camera. Roger and Mimi to the bedroom. Maureen to Mark for sympathy. Joanne after Maureen for reconciliation. Only Collins stayed.   
  
"Why won't you tell me what's up?"  
"Because," Angel laughed through tears, "the only thing that's up is the ceiling!"  
"Then why are you crying?"  
"Collins! Just go do whatever you were going to do, I'll be fine in a couple of seconds."  
"Well..."  
"Tom..."  
  
Collins sighed with disagreement, but turned around and walked over to their bedroom to do some writing. Angel watched him go, from behind the small, slightly broken table, and then smiled. Slowly, he ran a wrist across his eyes, wiping away the tears that had formed there, and looked down.  
  
With a humored air, the transvestite picked up the chopped onion pieces and dropped them into the metal pot near his head, and began slicing at the celery.   
  
"Some people..." 


End file.
